


It's a Modern Version of the Archetype of the Crossroads

by Ilthit



Series: The One Where They Find Each Other Again [1]
Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Airports, Ficlet, Fix-It, M/M, Reunions, Tropes, Wordcount: 100-1.000, Wordcount: 500-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 11:12:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4302612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilthit/pseuds/Ilthit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of them had to let the other one down. It wouldn't compelling otherwise. This was a scene of lost opportunities and might-have-beens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Modern Version of the Archetype of the Crossroads

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hedwwig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedwwig/gifts).



"You lied to me."

"You left," Abed countered.

They regarded each other across the table. Not THE table. That was years ago. This one was small and metallic and wedged too close to the hard plastic chairs on either side, as if designed to hurry its occupants on so that others could take their place.

There was another 47 minutes before Abed was due at his gate. 107 before Troy was due at his.

Troy had grown a beard. His hair was longer; it stuck around his head like a dark halo. It had taken Abed two or three looks before he'd realized why this stranger who stared at him so openly from the next check-in line made his heart speed up like a panicking alarm clock.

It was a mixed metaphor, but it seemed appropriate. Mixed was the theme of this scene. _Mixed_ could be the name of a short film about two people who used to know each other meeting in a place between places... but Abed was long over his festival shorts phase.

"Yeah. Well." Troy ran a hand through his hair, parting some curls from their arrangement. "You know why."

"Tell the audience at home."

"I'm not talking about pretend, Abed. You _lied_ to me. You knew I'd believe you."

"Yeah, okay." Abed shrugged. "It doesn't matter. You were going to leave anyway. I told you I'd be okay so you could."

"I wish you hadn't. I spent three years in hell and I still don't know how to be a man."

"Same."

Troy reached a hand across the smudged silver surface of the table and opened it. His fingernails were bitten short and there was a new scar across his palm.

Abed took it.

\- 

"I'm not doing it."

"What?"

"I'm not running up to the gate just as you're boarding and giving a big speech about why you shouldn't go." Troy threaded his fingers into Abed's over the table.

"Okay."

Abed was wearing his "no expression" expression, or a version of it, and it spoke volumes. It had remained fixed ever since they'd spotted each other at the check-in lines. He wasn't okay. _Troy_ wasn't okay.

"We can't do it that way," he added. "I'm not even going to pretend to let you go. Not unless you tell me to."

Abed swallowed. His shoulder sagged just a fraction. "Okay."

"Wait here." Troy picked up his backpack. He had a ticket to Colorado Springs and $500 on his checking account. He only hoped it was enough to switch it for one to Vancouver. Abed's grip resisted only a second before he let go. Troy turned back. "Please, don't leave. _Please_. Wait for just fifteen minutes."

Abed nodded. "Okay."

-

There were 14 minutes until Abed had to be at the gate. Someone had left a ring of coffee on the table.

He wondered how long he could wait here until someone noticed he'd missed his flight. He knew this story. One of them had to let the other one down. It wouldn't compelling otherwise. This was a scene of lost opportunities and might-have-beens.

If it was him, he'd catch his plane. Maybe he'd spot Troy across the hall, looking for him. No, that's sappy. He'd just not look back. He'd get on the plane, meet Rachel in Vancouver and finally delete that Greendale email address. No-one needed to know. There could be a shot of him looking out of the airplane window, but the final shot would be a sunset over the vast open space of the airfield.

If it was Troy, he'd be just too late in coming back, or something stopped him...

Something would have to stop him.

Troy was coming back.

9 minutes.

-

Troy collided with a young Dutch couple hauling what seemed like half the furnishings of a moderate townhouse, scattering the contents of one stuffed-to-bursting suitcase on the soapy floor. He apologized but kept running. He'd had to check in a second time. His luggage was probably still going to end up in Colorado, but right now he didn't have time to worry about it. His new ticket said boarding begins at 16:40. It was 16:48.

Which side of this hallway had they been sitting? Left or right? _Which_ left or right?

The crowd parted and he saw Abed. He was still sitting in exactly the same position he had before, though a middle-aged man was now sitting across from him reading a paperback.

Abed looked around as if he'd heard him and stood up. "I'm late," he said.

" _We're_ late," Troy corrected and waved his new ticket at Abed.

Abed's smiles were many things, not half of them genuine. This was the one he smiled at a movie that did something he hadn't expected but that had, when you thought about it, been foreshadowed all along. It was the smile for when things happened that weren't supposed to happen, but made sense when they did.

"It's still Casablanca," he said. "There's just no Ilsa."

"Nah," said Troy. "It's a romantic comedy. It's Sleepless in Seattle. Imagine Me & You. Back to the Future III."

"Well," said Abed, "in that case..."

"All right." Troy's face was wet but he could not stop grinning. "Just once."

By the time they got to the gate they only had five minutes left for a speech, but they made it happen.


End file.
